


In Which the Sheriff is Not Actually Working a Double

by veganshailseitan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Don't Judge Me, I NEEDED THIS, M/M, absolutely nothing but self indulgent teenage hormones and fluff, actually-a-teenager!Derek Hale, canon lite, like real canon but with 80 percent less angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veganshailseitan/pseuds/veganshailseitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He’s still not 100% on how he managed to get Derek Hale to like him.<br/>One minute it was, “Hey, seeing as how you’re the resident closet-lycanthrope of the sophomore class, I figured you could help with my friend’s werewolf bite.” followed by a lot of angry wall-pushing and intense eye contact. The next thing he knew there was a douchey teenage werewolf cornering him after lacrosse practice one day talking about his feelings. "</p>
<p>Or: the one where Derek is 16 and Stiles is 16 and everyone is alive and happy</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which the Sheriff is Not Actually Working a Double

**Author's Note:**

> Teenage!AU because I did not get enough bb!derek.  
> There was no fire, Derek is the same age as Scott and Stiles, Scott was bit by a rogue not!Peter alpha, everyone is happy and alive because I need this. Basically Teen Wolf Canon Lite  
> Inspired by several photosets on tumblr. Totally unbetad.

 “Shouldn’t we be in your room?” Derek _sounds_ like he’s objecting to plan Make Out on the Couch Because We’re Alone, Fuck Yeah, but the way he straddles Stiles’s lap immediately following the sentence undermines his responsible tone a bit.

Not that Stiles is complaining because a lapful of Derek is _always_ welcome.

“My dad,” Stiles skims his lips along the line where jaw meets neck; runs his hands up Derek’s thighs, appreciating the way the denim stretches across toned muscle with Derek’s legs parted like this, “is working a double.”

His hands find the edge of Derek’s shirt, fidgeting with the fabric. Kissing is something they’re used to; kissing Derek is akin to breathing at this point, or at least Stiles feels like he uses his mouth for each in equal measure, anyway. Shirtlessness of the sexy variety, however, is still fairly new territory for them, so he waits. Derek’s hands slide down from his shoulders, across his forearms, and over his own hands with permission. Stiles feels his breath shudder at the contact, eyes meeting Derek’s before they lift the fabric together.

“Dude, I know I say this like every time, but _wow_ , my boyfriend is _hot_.”

Derek snorts a laugh into the space between them, pulling at Stiles’s shirt in return. Once it’s gone, Stiles has to remind himself to relax, remind himself that, for some reason, Derek is into the whole pale, skinny, and lanky thing he’s got going on. “Can’t possibly be as hot as mine.” Derek’s face does that infuriatingly sexy smirk thing that makes Stiles’s guts writhe.

“Oh really?” Stiles teases, conscious of the way their heads drift closer together. This is his favorite part, the buildup right before the kissing starts. He swears he can feel the pull between their lips, some magnetic potential energy that draws them together in the end.

“Well, I bet-“ Derek cuts him off with a kiss, giving into the pull, hands finding their way into his boyfriend’s hair. Stiles groans into the kiss, his own hands pressing against Derek’s bare shoulder blades.

Stiles had honestly expected to be single until college. He’d come to terms with the fact that high school was just not going to be the place to meet someone whose weirdness complemented his own. And yeah, he sometimes got a little pang of envy when Scott talked about Allison, but it was cool because he’d get there one day. He was totally cool with his extended stay in single-town.

And then Derek Hale came in and totally negated all the awesome character building that being miserably single had done him.

He’s still not 100% on how he managed to get _Derek Hale_ to like him. One minute it was, “Hey, seeing as how you’re the resident closet-lycanthrope of the sophomore class, I figured you could help with my friend’s werewolf bite.” followed by a lot of angry wall-pushing and intense eye contact. The next thing he knew there was a douchey teenage werewolf cornering him after lacrosse practice one day talking about his _feelings_.

And yeah, maybe Stiles had followed that conversation with a _small_ freakout of the holy-shit-I-also-like-guys variety because those feelings were _definitely_ not one-sided. Stiles had done a very good job, these last sixteen years, of keeping his head in the sand only for Derek to come along with his snark and his abs and his stupid eyebrows all giving Stiles a ridiculous amount of butterflies.

Butterflies which remained even two months later when Stiles’s hands were, totally of their own accord, sliding down Derek’s glorious bare back and up again trying to work up the courage to touch Derek’s butt in all of its glory. He’d made it to the waistband of Derek’s jeans four times now before chickening out, but this time is the charm, he can feel it.

Derek’s mouth is on his neck now and Stiles doesn’t know if neck kisses are some kind of primal werewolf instinct, but he’s a huge fan of the new kiss-lick-scrape pattern Derek’s employing in his exploration. Maybe _too big_ a fan, if you catch his drift. He’s tempted to give up on the attempted butt-touching, just sit back, enjoy the stimulation, and try not to make too many embarrassing sounds, but the idea that he could be enjoying neck kisses _while touching Derek’s butt_ , quickly beats out that plan.

His hands make it to the waistband for the fifth time and Stiles can _feel_ how close he is to his goal. He can almost imagine the arch of Derek’s back pronouncing itself just a bit more, encouraging the slide mere inches down.

He chickens out.

But as his hands slowly inch up, defeated once more by their own cowardice, he feels a pressure snap around his wrist. A glance down tells him that, without even the slightest pause in the oh-so light scraping of his teeth against Stiles’s neck, one of Derek’s hands has grabbed his wrist. Stiles entirely expects his hands to be relocated to a more PG location, (which is 100% cool by him, it’s totally Derek’s prerogative if he’s not at the “touch my butt” stage yet) but instead, the hand guides Stiles’s own down with a gentle force until the breadth of his palm is cupping the swell of Derek’s ass.

After that, Stiles needs no further urging to move his other hand to join the first, Derek’s ass is even more glorious than Stiles had accounted for and it’s short-circuiting his brain a little bit. All plans of not popping a boner while his incredibly hot boyfriend sits on his lap performing immoral acts on his apparently erogenous neck are officially shot. Stiles abandons hope, kneading the flesh eagerly and shamelessly now that he’s been given outright encouragement.

Neither of them really knows how it happens, but suddenly their mouths are back together loosely, tongues curling around each other and frantic, half-muted sounds. Derek’s hips began to roll with the rhythm of Stiles’s hands on his ass, they rock together heatedly and _oh_ , Stiles was apparently not the only one who decided to throw propriety out the window because _that_ is most definitely an erection grinding down against his.

Stiles wholeheartedly expected to be single up through the last day of senior year, but here he is, barely two months from the summer of sophomore year, alone in an empty house with his smoking boyfriend, classlessly dry-humping on his father’s favorite couch. It is hands down the best moment of his life heretofore.

Until about a minute later when Derek, very suddenly, breaks the kiss and pushes him away.

“Stiles,” he pants, sitting up.

“Are you not ready for all the grinding or-“

“Your dad is about thirty seconds from pulling into the driveway, where is my shirt?” They scramble to pull on their shirts properly and Stiles thanks the heavens above that Derek was alert enough that his werewolfy senses didn’t totally fail them. Stiles gets his hoody on, sleeves rolled up, just in time to hear the door of the cruiser shut from outside. 

“Shit… so I, uh, I have a confession to make?” he doesn’t mean to make it a question, but that’s what it decided to be.

Derek gives him an incredulous look. His face doesn’t actually change that much, but Stiles can read ‘why do I like this moron so much’ clearly in the eyebrows and it makes his heart beat a little faster, “Now?”

“It’s, uh, kind of immediately relevant?” he brushes a hand through Derek’s hair, trying and failing miserably to make it look less like that same hand had been pulling at it a few minutes ago, “so I kind of never got around to telling my dad about the whole bisexual revelation and, by association… he kind of… doesn’t know about you?”

Derek manages to look hurt, annoyed, and understanding at the same time. His face doesn’t seem to get the memo about feelings most of the time, but Stiles is intimately aware of Derek’s ability for empathy.

“You said he’d be fine with it!” he can hear footsteps up the walk.

“Yeah but that doesn’t make, you know, actually _telling_ him any easier!” they’re whisper-shouting at each other now, despite the fact that there’s no way Stiles’s dad could hear them from outside.

Derek opens his mouth, but his reply dies with the click of a key twisting in the lock. Stiles looks around frantically, totally not contemplating hiding Derek in his bedroom (too late, his dad had to have noticed the extra car in the driveway).

“Wow, studying right? So much studying, I’m glad we’re done studying for the…. thing.” Stiles’s eyes plead with Derek as he futilely –damn werewolf strength, damn werewolf _stubbornness_ — tries to push his boyfriend toward the door his father is currently walking through.

The sheriff enters the room, immediately eyeing his son with suspicion. Stiles decides now would be a good time for a _massive pit_ to open in the floor and swallow him whole. He’s pretty sure his father will just kind of understand eventually. Like when he gets a wedding invite.

Unfortunately, the universe refuses to concede even this once to Stiles’s wishes and both he and Derek remain, compromisingly, in their situation.

“Who is this, Stiles?”

Stiles can feel his heart hammer double time in his chest.

“This is Derek Hale. He’s my uh-“ he gulps a little, the word refusing to form on his lips.

Derek obviously decides he needs help and makes firm eye contact with the sheriff, “Boy-“

“Friend.” Stiles interrupts quickly, overriding Derek’s word rather than finishing it. He feels Derek turn to look at him, doesn’t need fancy werewolf senses to feel the emotion in Derek’s gaze, doesn’t even need to _meet_ the gaze. Confusion, hurt, disbelief. Stiles feels like a betrayer and his father still looks unconvinced.

He sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, “Actually, he’s my, um…” he clears his throat a little, bringing a hand, somewhat awkwardly, to rest across Derek’s shoulders, “He’s my boyfriend.”

The Sheriff glances between the two of them to make sure his son is serious and not trying to cover up something illicit and/or illegal. The way Derek beams at Stiles after the confession shatters any doubt.

“Is he staying for dinner?”


End file.
